Aphrodite
Chapter 24

Vlad led the way to the room containing the journals. As they descended the stairs, Rachel heard the familiar noises again, echoing from behind the wall. This time, the sounds formed her name, as if a demon was whispering directly to her. She bit her lip, tempted to speak out, but since neither Vlad nor Estella reacted, she wondered if she imagined the voices.

Following closely, Estella and Rachel stopped short as Vlad threw open the door and strode into the vast library. Rachel looked to Violet’s portrait hanging above the mantel. To her astonishment, something about the portrait had changed.

“Vlad,” Rachel said, her voice tinged with disbelief, “has Violet’s portrait always looked like this? I could have sworn her dress was white with flowers, but now it’s black, straight from the 1920s.”

Vlad and Estella turned, their expressions equally puzzled. “You’re right, Rachel,” Vlad admitted. “Her dress has indeed changed. How that’s possible, I don’t know.”

Estella approached the portrait, studying it. “I’ve witnessed the power of Rachel’s essence on this painting before. These portraits seem to serve as gateways for those with the right powers. Unfortunately, Vlad, neither you nor I possess these abilities.”

Rachel peered closer at the painting, spotting a small note clutched in Violet’s hand. The faint words ‘break the bond’ were scrawled on it. Her heart sank knowing this message was from someone Vlad trusted. Perhaps news of the Abaddon’s breakthrough had reached the underworld. “It feels like the universe is telling us not to be together.”

Turning to face Vlad, Rachel bumped into him. She steadied herself and met his gaze, her lips pressed into a thin line. “The Abaddon is using his influence in the underworld to intimidate us. I can’t stand by and watch Violet or anyone else suffer. I won’t let these lost souls be robbed of whatever peace they have left.” Tears traced down her cheeks, which she quickly wiped away, her focus returning to Violet’s portrait.

Vlad wrapped his arms around her. “We will fight this, Rachel. The louder his threats become, the closer we are to replaceing the answer.” Rachel considered his words, wrestling with the potential cost of their actions. She loved him, but if it hurt those around them, maybe it was better to let go.

Estella coughed, snapping them back to reality. “Do I need to remind you both that we’re running out of time? Enough with the affection—start looking through the books.”

Vlad released Rachel and glanced up at the painting. “I still don’t understand how you used this painting as a portal to the underworld. You shouldn’t have been able to come back. The only way back from the underworld is through Inanis, and it’s impossible to maintain your human form between those two realms.”

“I told you, there was a creature,” Rachel replied. “He used his powers to send me back. He seemed involved with my memories somehow—it felt like he was ensuring I didn’t lose them again.”

“It’s not possible,” Vlad commented with a strained voice, eyes still fixed on Violet’s image.

“Vlad,” Estella interjected, stepping toward him, “I managed to contact one of my sources today. They suspect a shadow creature was involved—what humans might call a god in their legends. He believes such power could have come from Hades.”

“That being is a human myth. No one has ever seen Hades,” Vlad dismissed, just as Violet’s eyes in the portrait flashed ominously. Vlad shuddered, his usually commanding frame seeming suddenly vulnerable.

“Oh, I think our friend in the portrait just confirmed it,” Estella said. “It makes sense. There are creatures that belong to the underworld. No one has seen them in our realm because they’ve never crossed over.”

“If that’s true and there is indeed only one Aphrodite, then we must consider the possibility that you, Rachel, are a shadow creature. A god,” Vlad proposed.

Estella studied Rachel, her brows knotting. “You can’t be serious, Vlad? She is powerful, yes, but she’s only recently unlocked her abilities. She was human for so long.”

“We know she possesses memories that predate her physical form, and she navigates between worlds. She appears to have the power of reincarnation—unlike the Abaddon who must form a body, she is born into this world. That might be her escape; the Abaddon can’t replace her until she awakens her abilities.”

“But Vlad,” Estella’s voice broke, tears brimming in her eyes, “how can we possibly break the bond if she is that powerful?”

Confused and alarmed by their words, Rachel glanced between Vlad and Estella. “She poisoned the men of cities with her essence,” she mumbled to herself, echoing Myus’s words.

Turning to Vlad, she suddenly questioned if his devotion was a consequence of her powers. He had been wary of forming bonds until they met, and now both he and Estella were suggesting she possessed extraordinary powers.

History was repeating itself; unwittingly, she was enchanting those around her. It was a heartrending thought; she had never felt so deeply for anyone, and she desperately wanted their love to be genuine.

But a nagging doubt lingered—their time together had been brief, and in truth, they barely knew each other. The bond might have amplified their feelings, and now she found herself wondering if they would endure if the bond were severed.

“Vlad, your king—Is there a portrait of him here?” Rachel asked, an idea forming in her mind. “I would feel better if we could communicate the threat to him, and perhaps he may have some advice for us.”

Vlad’s chest rose as he took a deep breath, conflicted by the proposal. “I suppose he would have knowledge of the shadow creatures, possibly even the Phoenix,” he replied, his voice hesitant.

“Vlad, no. It’s not safe. You can’t allow Rachel to go back to the underworld. If she loses her mortal body, all our work will have been for nothing,” Estella protested, her voice filled with genuine concern. The risks of venturing back into the underworld were undeniable. But as the trio stood in the library, surrounded by centuries of knowledge, they knew they had to consider all options.

“If my body dies, the cycle begins again, does it not? The Abaddon is here for me, and from what I can tell, he’s always been after me. If I die, he will follow me. Somehow, I always replace a way back. I’m ready to do whatever it takes,” Rachel declared, her resolve clear. She turned to Vlad and added, “If breaking the bond can protect you and give us a chance against the Abaddon, then I’m all in. Once the bond is severed, you and Estella can continue searching for the Phoenix.”

“I’m not sure I agree to this, but let’s start with my king. Estella, stay here and continue searching through the journals,” Vlad instructed, extending his hand to Rachel. “Come with me, my love.”

A hesitant smile flickered across Rachel’s face as she took his hand, following him down the hallway. As they approached the wall at the bottom of the staircase, the demonic calling intensified. Vlad fiddled with something behind a painting, and with a gentle press, the wall swung open, revealing a dark corridor.

“So there was something back here after all,” Rachel remarked, peering into the shadows.

“There are many secrets in this house.”

Channelling her essence, Rachel lit the hallway with a soft glow.

“There are lights, you know? They have sensors,” Vlad commented, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Rachel shrugged, the demon’s call growing more menacing. “That sound I was telling you about, the voice, it’s getting louder. Something here is not right.”

Vlad’s expression shifted, his concern deepening. “We are on this journey together. Whatever you hear, I’m here to protect you.” They paused in front of a door. Grasping the ornate, curved metal handle, Vlad turned to her. “What lies within this room is of great importance. Everything here serves a purpose and must be treated with the utmost respect.”

“I understand.”

“Even this door is significant; it’s made from the sacred ashwood tree,” he added. The door creaked as he pushed it open, and Rachel noted the considerable effort it took him, pondering its weight.

As Vlad’s foot touched the sandstone floor, the room filled with light. Rachel’s gaze wandered, taking in the ancient artifacts secured within glass cabinets.

Fascinated by the mysterious items around her, Rachel took her time examining the protected relics. The collection included weapons of various shapes and sizes—swords, shields—and jewels that sparkled with an unfamiliar brilliance.

Her attention settled on a long sword with an intricate handle, adorned with small purple gems that emitted a soft glow. As she leaned closer for a better view, a thick red curtain brushed against her foot. Turning, her eyes were drawn to a large painting of a woman beside another curtain, which she suspected hid yet another portrait.

Rachel approached the painting, her mouth slightly agape, mesmerised by the woman’s beauty. “Who is she?” she asked, inching closer, her fingers tingling with the urge to touch the canvas. She summoned all her willpower to resist.

Standing beside her, Vlad’s voice was low and tinged with sorrow. “My queen.”

Rachel turned to Vlad with a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry. He took everything from you, didn’t he?”

Vlad’s gaze lingered on the painting, his eyes moistening. He quickly wiped away a tear. “She is with my king in the underworld.”

She turned her attention to the red curtain next to the painting. “Is that your king?”

“It is,” Vlad replied, his voice cracking. His head dropped, and his breathing became shallow.

She hadn’t expected to see him so vulnerable. The pain, hurt, and loss he had contained for centuries were now visible; his enduring love for his king and queen had never waned. Rachel felt his anguish but knew she could do nothing to lessen it.

Gathering the fabric, Vlad pulled the curtain aside. The red material billowed softly before settling on the sandstone floor. As the painting of his king was revealed, Vlad collapsed to his knees, tears coursing down his cheeks.

Rachel stepped closer, taken aback by the image before her. She had envisioned a portrait of a strong, regal figure, but instead, she was confronted by the depiction of a frail, pale man. His skin was lined with wrinkles, and his eyes, a stony grey, as if his very essence was being drained.

Her heart pounded at the sight of the ghoulish figure that seemed to engulf the king—a dark shadow that appeared out of place. She scrutinised it closely, feeling a potent energy emanating from it. “The demon,” she said softly.

Vlad shook his head, wiping away his tears. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. What creature could do such a thing?”

Rachel suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to touch the painting, but the sensation was different this time. It felt as though a malevolent force was compelling her, likely aiming to trap her in the underworld.

Her arm trembled as she tried to convince herself to stop. With her free hand, she clutched her wrist in a futile attempt to hold back, but it was no use.

Vlad’s eyes widened as he saw Rachel struggling, and he lunged forward in an attempt to pull her away. But he was too late—her fingertips had already brushed against the black paint.

In an instant, everything froze. Her trembling ceased, and her heart’s frantic beating dissipated. The relief was short-lived, however, as she noticed Vlad’s hand suspended in mid-air, reaching out to her. Fear was etched deeply across his face, reflecting the gravity of the moment.

Apprehensively, Rachel turned back to the painting, dreading what she might see. As she focused on the king, his mouth opened slightly, emitting a pained groan. The black paint began to ripple and separate from the canvas, and before she could react, a powerful gust of wind pushed her backward into the darkness.

As Rachel was hurled into the void, a crushing pressure seized her chest, constricting her breath to shallow gasps. The darkness around her deepened, a suffocating cloak of shadows unlike anything she had ever encountered. A wave of panic washed over her as the harrowing realisation set in: Vlad’s reassuring presence was gone, leaving her alone in the vast, uncharted abyss.